


formal wear

by Ohcaptainswanmycaptainswan



Series: thirteen fanzine prompts [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohcaptainswanmycaptainswan/pseuds/Ohcaptainswanmycaptainswan
Summary: a very late response to thirteen fanzine's prompt, formal wear





	formal wear

Broken glass clinked beneath her feet, the only sound in the room beside the faint, haunting, lilting remnants of the music from the evening. Pausing, Yaz nudged at a bigger piece with her toe. It barely shifted. 

Finally, she saw the Doctor. She sat alone on the edge of the stage with her back to Yaz, swinging her feet to knock against the wood. As Yaz walked up to join her, the Doctor sighed, but otherwise showed no acknowledgement of Yaz’s presence. Her suit coat lay crumpled on the ground next to her, the once fine garment torn and soot stained, leaving her only in a waistcoat and shirt. 

Carefully, Yaz lowered herself to the ground next to the Doctor. Yet despite her care, her tight dress tore a little more at the movement, the skirt turning from figure hugging to hanging limply. For a moment, the two sat in silence, a silence unbroken and underpinned and enhanced by the waltz that started to play. 

“We’ve made a right mess of it, haven’t we, Yaz?” said the Doctor quietly. “ _ I’ve _ made a right mess of it. As always.” 

“You haven’t, Doctor,” said Yaz, just as quietly. “If we weren’t here… well, who knows what would have happened. We saved lives.” 

“Perhaps.” The Doctor tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, brushing it out of her face. “Or perhaps our presence here was what caused this.” 

Yaz bit her lip. They had removed the bodies, but still, patches of empty ground with no glass marked where they had fallen. So clear cut, so decisive. Yet, there wasn’t even any blood on the ground. Nothing to mark the end of life. It was simply… a space. A space where once a living person had been but was there no more. 

“You can’t think like that,” said Yaz. The few inches between them seemed so small, yet yawned and gaped. Yaz’s fingers twitched, longing to reach out and take the Doctor’s hand. But she couldn’t move them, couldn’t even look over at the Doctor, could only follow the Doctor’s empty, lost gaze into the depths of the grand, destroyed room. “It’s a dangerous road to let yourself down.” 

The Doctor shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t been down it before.” 

“And what happened?”

“Pain,” whispered the Doctor. 

Yaz didn’t know how to respond to that, so she let it sit, let the word hang in the air between them, dripping poison, poison and pain, into each breath. 

“Am I cursed, Yaz?” said the Doctor abruptly. 

“No! Why would you think that?”

“Because every time I try to help, it blows up in my face.” With a sardonic huff, the Doctor scrubbed at her face with her dirt encrusted sleeve. She only succeeded in smearing the soot on her skin further. “Literally, in this case. Always seems to happen when I get dressed up and fancy too. Can’t keep clothes looking nice. Can’t keep people alive.” 

Yaz’s heart ached. “Last time you wore a suit, it was destroyed, too,” said Yaz quietly. “It was ill fitting and awkward. But you still managed to save us from those DNA bombs, save us from… well. Everything. How can you call that cursed?” 

“But I couldn’t save Grace,” the Doctor pointed out dully. “There’s always someone I can’t save, someone who would be alive if I hadn’t fallen and crashed into their lives by some whim of fate. Someone who I failed.” 

“Perhaps.” Yaz bit her lip. “But there’s also so many people who will live and go on. People who will go on to fall in love, to create, to pass down the story of what you’ve done. Of how the Doctor saved them.” 

The Doctor laughed. “Yaz,” she said. “My Yaz. Always trying to put a good spin on it. Always looking at the bright side of things. I admire you for that. And envy you. But sometimes… sometimes there are things you cannot fix.” 

“As there are things that you can’t fix, Doctor,” said Yaz. “You can’t beat and burn and hurt yourself over them. They happen. And sometimes all you can do is try to minimize the damage, because even you can’t fix everything.” 

“Yet you always try to fix things, Yaz. In your own way.” The Doctor finally turned to look at Yaz. “But this is one of those things that you can’t fix either.” 

Yaz swallowed, pinned under the Doctor’s heavy eyes. “So what would you have me do? Stop trying?” 

“No. Never.” The Doctor turned back to gaze back across the empty room. “But sometimes - maybe - it’s enough for you to just be here.” 

Hardly daring to breathe, Yaz moved her hand to take the Doctor’s. It shook as she made contact with the Doctor’s skin, her normal warmth depleted and exhausted. Instead, the Doctor’s hand was clammy and limp, dirt crusted around her cuticles. Yet as Yaz held it, the Doctor wrapped her fingers around Yaz’s hand in return, her movements stiff and leaden. 

The room gaped, the air turning heavier and heavier with each passing moment. But Yaz stayed. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t let the Doctor be alone with just her ghosts and the slow, plodding, numbing melody. 

The song ended and the music faded into nothing, leaving not even an echo behind.

**Author's Note:**

> want more fanzine? https://thirteenfanzine.tumblr.com/post/186746522484/whats-next


End file.
